


Your Tomb (Is Where Your Heart Is)

by Celyan



Series: Works for 007 Fest 2020 [6]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celyan/pseuds/Celyan
Summary: There’s no grave for Q to visit.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Works for 007 Fest 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813132
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Your Tomb (Is Where Your Heart Is)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired again by the prompt of LDWS week 2. 
> 
> Thanks to SandyWormbook for the beta.

There’s no grave for Q to visit. 

No gravestone to proclaim that  _ here lies James Bond, a loving husband and a great father to his furry children_. 

No plaque to commemorate his many accomplishments, both personal and professional alike. 

Nothing to show that Bond has ever existed, and lived, and laughed, and loved, and kissed Q with gentle passion, and held him close when he needed to be held, and coaxed him to go home after a sequence of increasingly longer and more arduous days at Six, and fallen asleep with his arms securely wrapped around Q’s body, all the while making Q feel safe and adored and  _ at home _ the way he always did. 

Q’s not sentimental, not really, nor does he believe in life after death or any such nonsense, but he  _ is _ in love with his husband, now just as much as the day when they wed, and he needs a place to mourn that isn’t the home they share and built themselves, the home where Bond’s presence is still as solid and real as it was on the morning he woke up in Bond’s arms and kissed him goodbye before his flight, only to later hear the ominous sound of a bomb going off and Bond’s heavy breathing and then—nothing. 

Nothing, nothing,  _ nothing_; no Bond calling out for him, no sound of his breathing, only an echoing silence and the growing suspicion that something was seriously wrong, and his more and more frantic pleas for Bond to respond, to give a sitrep, to say bloody something,  _ anything _ to show that he was still there. 

Q’d wanted to scream when R had gently touched his arm and told him that there were no vitals to be seen on the screens and that they were essentially blind with no way to ascertain what was happening. But he hadn’t, not until two sleepless days later when M and Eve had needed to physically remove him from the premises, eventually resorting to telling him that James would never have wanted his death to be the death of Q, too. 

So he’d gone home, and he’d cried himself to sleep, holding onto Bond’s pillow like a lifeline, and he’d awoken fourteen hours later to a certainty that his life would never be the same again. 

It’s been two months to the day, and Q hasn’t stopped wishing for a miracle he knows will never happen. 


End file.
